


Par Avion

by Callisparrow



Category: Genesis (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, Fear of Flying, M/M, Male Friendship, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisparrow/pseuds/Callisparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony really hates flying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Par Avion

**Author's Note:**

> Tony has said in interviews that he is afraid to fly, but I give him so much credit for being brave and getting on the plane anyway to do what needs doing. This little story is how I imagine what might happen during a particularly stressful anxiety attack for Tony, and how his friends might help him deal.

Tony hated flying. It wasn't that he was afraid—well, he was—but it wasn't something he liked to admit. He knew logically it would be impossible to travel any other way across the Atlantic in only six hours. He knew he had flown hundreds of times. He knew it was safe. Yet every single time the experience pulsed with fresh terror and he found himself repeating the same mantra once again. Logical, safe. Safe, it's safe...

In the next row Mike was shifting restlessly, trying to find the mechanism to adjust the seat and make enough room to stretch his long legs. Across the aisle Phil chatted brightly on his cell phone, perhaps a last-minute conversation with one of his children. Neither one paid Tony or his inner turmoil the slightest attention. Not that they would notice someone else's inner turmoil anyway, he considered. To anyone else he probably seemed the silver-haired image of precision and calm people had come to expect, but his frazzled mind begged to differ.

Takeoff was the worst. For now their jet sat idling on the tarmac but Tony knew what was coming. The acceleration, feeling his rapidly pounding heart as he tried to block out the dizzy sight of just how high they were climbing...

He shook his head and tried to concentrate on something else. With one hand he began to tap out keyboard signatures on the armrest. Keep counting. 7/8, nice and easy. He began to picture the concert in his mind's eye, and for a minute or two he was calm amid the sound of voice and guitar and his own synths.

“He's a man of our times, a man of our tiiiiiimes!” Phil's real voice intruded loudly on Tony's ear, interrupting his mental soundtrack. He visibly startled.

“Tonight, tonight! Ohhhhh, he's burning bright!” Mike flipped around in his seat and joined Phil's high-toned singing and air-drumming, not missing a beat until both of them broke into laughter, their smiles wide. Tony smiled too but he felt his face flush hot; he didn't realize he had been singing very quietly before Phil picked up on it.

“Are you doing lead vocals now? Because I can leave, I'm not needed here,” Phil teased.

“Don't do it, we already made that mistake!” Mike's deep guffaws at the expense of their solo efforts seemed a little too loud, and Tony's eyes settled on the mostly-empty glass of rum and coke that rested in the bassist's hand.

“Sorry,” said Tony, still pink with embarrassment. “I was trying to take my mind off things.”

“Hey, it's all right. I know just what you need.” Phil motioned grandly in Mike's direction. “Michael, this man requires more booze straightaway.”

“Oh, uhh...” Tony shifted uncomfortably. Getting him drunk was something they had tried a few times before. While the buzz had taken the edge off his fear, it certainly hadn't done much for his vertigo on the last flight. Well, not in any sense of improvement. He remembered standing up suddenly in a moment of confidence only to creep his way very slowly and unsteadily to the toilet. “I'm not sure that's wise,” he said.

“Tony, the doctor was very clear about getting your travel shots. Now here's shot number one...” With a crooked smile Mike generously upended the remains of the rum bottle into a fresh glass.

“Oh good grief, Mike.”

“There's tequila if you would prefer?”

“No...” Tony accepted the drink with a sigh. His friends meant well, anyway.

Two or three shots later, feeling the warm flush of alcohol inside him, he wondered vaguely if he should eat something. But it was at that moment the jet began to roll forward onto the runway and he heard the pilot's announcement for takeoff. Tony's heart leaped into his throat. Any pleasant feelings inspired by alcohol quickly evaporated. His face must have betrayed his fear because he heard Phil say:

“Will you be all right?”

Tony nodded, breathing deeply through his nose. “I'm fine,” he lied. The jet continued to taxi and he resisted the impulse to look out the window. For whatever reason the fear was worse this time, and he was on the point of hyperventilating. He fumbled with the seatbelt for a whole minute before it finally clicked into place. Then he shut his eyes and let himself fall back onto the headrest, waiting for the inevitable.

“Mike, c'mere.” Phil's voice seemed disconnected and muted over the surrounding drone of the engines, but Tony refused to move until he unexpectedly felt something brush past his legs. When he looked up, Phil was sitting to his left in the window seat with a worried look in his bright little eyes. Beside him on the right, Mike was settling into the aisle seat and trying not to mash his knees against the folding tray.

“You'll be fine,” Phil murmured, and nuzzled against his friend's shoulder. Tony managed to release his sweaty death grip on the armrest and slipped his fingers into Phil's waiting hand.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Tony panted, burning with shame. In response Mike silently took his other hand and squeezed.

The jet engines roared to life and they accelerated at frightening speed. He felt crushed into his seat, leaving his stomach somewhere far behind as the whole world fell open beneath him. For many minutes his mind was lost amid a confused pounding noise and nauseous vertigo behind his closed eyes, until slowly the world seemed to right itself and a familiar low voice said:

“It's all right, Tony.” He cautiously opened his eyes. Mike and Phil were still there. He still held tightly to their hands. They smiled at him gently.

“Hey, you made it!” said Mike, patting his shoulder. Tony let out his breath and relaxed his grip, but his friends still held loosely to his hands, not breaking the touch until he did. He lowered his eyes.

“Thanks. I'll be all right now. I'm so sorry—”

“Mehhh, none of that,” Phil said dismissively. He nudged Tony's cheek with his forehead before continuing, “Now Mike, we have six hours to either write something or get very drunk. I think this should be an obvious choice.”

For the first time that day, Tony found it in himself to laugh.


End file.
